Villanelle
by Heaven's Thesis
Summary: Angra Mainyu finds a certain blank slate wandering the cooling fires of Fukyuki, and imbues it with values and traits designed to bring about the return of All the World's evils. With an origin of "dagger" rather than "sword," the Magus known as Emiya Shirou meets a hollow-eyed girl, and together they walk down a path that will surely end the world in darkness and flame.
1. Compilation

Prologue: Compilation

Sliding down the smoldering wreckage of crippled apartment, an amorphous blob of the being known as "Angra Mainyu" rages. Even now, as the edges of its form boil and hiss—

 _angerdespairhatesorrowconfusionannoyancepain_

—it cannot help but wonder as to what has happened. It is a sentient existence, yes— but not always a sensory one.

Alone and without form, it had sat within the Holy Grail as each wavering soul was added to the Grail's gathered strength.

It had waited, blind, deaf, dull to all exterior happenings, for its reintroduction unto the world, fueled by the power of the heroic spirits—and for a moment, it had been rewarded. Halfway reborn, in the form of a gargantuan mass of sludge, containing nearly infinite amounts of prana and all the world's sin, Angra Mainyu had _felt_ , once again—

—reveling in the feeling of a blistering wind—

—spreading its perception across the surroundings—

—suddenly blindsided by a roaring surge of light, blown into withering scraps of negative emotion—

—and now it is here, and there, and in a few other places, too, in an assortment of slowly dissolving lumps. It is, effectively, in pieces. It focuses its sentience and takes stock of the situation.

* * *

— — — — — _When I came to, I was in a burning field._

 _I guess there had been a big fire._

 _The familiar town had turned to ashes and it looked like the remains of a battlefield from a movie._

* * *

Ashes swirl into the dry, smoky air. The screams of the dying are nearly lost amidst the blaring of alarms and the crackling of flame. Angra Mainyu knows it has lost, here, and can only wait for the next Heaven's Feel, the ritual-war that had once brought it into existence as a contender and would return it once more as a god. It heaves a mental sigh, committing itself to another period of hazy formlessness in the void of the Greater Grail.

* * *

 _The fire had died down by the time the sun rose. The tall wall of flame had shortened, and most of the buildings had fallen._

 _...It felt strange, being the only thing in that place that still had its original form._

 _I was the only one still alive around here._

 _I must have been really lucky, or my house had been built in a very lucky spot. I don't know which it was, but the point is, I was the only one left alive._

* * *

Truly, Angra Mainyu mourns the situation. There is plenty of pain, plenty of suffering—but there is no one upon whom it can impart its sins. Perhaps if it could imbue even a single man with a carefully-chosen set of the world's evils it could rest easy, knowing that he would go on to sow discord and misery in the lives of all who he met. But the old lie dying and the young lie dead, and no one will carry on its bitter legacy.

Or will they…?

Striking upon a plan, Angra Mainyu begins to slowly ooze the concept of "restlessness" into its surroundings. Time is short, and this calculated action only makes it disappear faster.

* * *

 _I felt that since I survived, I should live on._

 _I started walking aimlessly, because I thought it would be dangerous just to stay there._

 _I wasn't really concerned about getting burned up like the people lying around me._

 _...Probably because, over and above not wanting to be like them, I had a stronger feeling in my mind._

 _But still, I had no hope._

 _It was already a wonder I was still alive, so I couldn't expect to be saved._

 _I won't survive._

 _Whatever happens, I won't be able to escape from this red world._

 _It was such an absolute hell that even a small child could understand it._

* * *

An empty child wanders through ruined Fuyuki, having discarded every aspect of himself in order to continue onwards. It can be said that he has become a blank tablet, ready to accept the "words" of whatever should happen next, and record them onto his being forever. An empty process, ready to execute whatever formula it is given.

* * *

Elsewhere, a man named Kiritsugu Emiya stands. He has failed his task, has given up all that he loved in pursuit of an unattainable dream. He wants nothing more than to stay where he is, slumped, and give in to the weight of his emotions for what seems to be the first, and would surely be the last time.

Yes, such a prospect does not seem unattractive at the present time—

—but there is work to be done. People to be saved.

Indeed, if he were to be without such a strong conviction, it could be said that he would never have become the man now known as "Kiritsugu Emiya."

And so he stands, and stumbles into the dying flames. His strides grow more confident, his brow slowly eases. There is little hope, if any at all. He knows this.

—and yet, something drives him to continue onwards.

* * *

The collective remainder of Angra Mainyu burbles. The situation has changed, drastically for the better.

Into the realm of its influence and perception has wandered a young boy. Auburn of hair, pale of skin, and, most importantly—

—blank of mind. Completely blank. He is at once more, and less than human.

Angra Mainyu knows it cannot ruin the life of this boy.

There are none this boy can remember caring for, and therefore none whose lives it can ruin.

Not even the boy's own life can be spoilt, because without a set of values there is nothing that will perturb an absent happiness.

But similarly, there is nothing to resist whatever it would push onto the boy. Angra Mainyu waits for the child to draw near a particularly collection of its essence, and pushes into his mind the "sin" of Pandora: an ill-fated curiosity.

The boy halts. He turns, slowly, to face the roiling murk that he has been careful to avoid until now. An organic, fleshy mass the size of a horse palpates at the base of an isolated wall.

A strange need-to-know overcomes him as he draws closer.

A small hand, trembling as if in protest, reaches out to a small fraction of a primal god.

Contact.

Just beneath the surface of the blob, something boils and surges where hand meets sin. And suddenly—

* * *

 _I collapsed._

 _Was it because there was no air? Was it because there was no function left in my body?_

 _Anyway, I collapsed and stared up at the clouded sky._

 _Everything around me was burned up and I could see many shriveled people._

 _The dark clouds loomed overhead, telling me it would rain soon._

…

* * *

Beneath the child, Angra Mainyu churns with cruel satisfaction. As the child had keeled over, folding backwards as all his strength was drained, the shapeless blob had slid beneath him, catching him on a bed of crawling, flowing darkness.

It calls up all the prana it can muster, draining it from other pieces and leaching it from the air, and dozens of tumors turn to black ash, which blow away with the arid wind.

It needs all the magic it can get for what is to come.

Yes.

Before, it had been breathing small concepts into the air, slipping them like poisons into the "mind" of each survivor who was touched.

Now, it seeks to weave them into the very "soul" of a single being.

This time, it does not seek to harm.

It does not seek to help, either.

Or at least, those are not the immediate things it seeks, consequent though they may be.

Unsure of how much time remains or how much prana is needed, it pulls upon all the wrongdoings the world has ever seen, imbuing the "existence" of the child with only the most useful and relevant of traits.

Some are straightforward concepts, designed to aid the boy in all that he does.

 _Manipulation, to ensure the path of least resistance._

 _Calculation, of the amoral variant. It would not do to have an inefficient avatar, after all._

 _Obsession, strong enough to sway decision and weak enough to lay dormant for extended duration._

Some are hazier ideas, resistant to summation by a single word. These will shape the course of his desire, and his responses to the world.

 _Agnosia to certain pleasures. The boy will never feel joy in selflessness, or for bettering humanity._

 _Zealous devotion. Obsession alone is binding, but obsession unbreaking is infinitely more so._

 _Detached betrayal. There is no time for hesitance, no use for guilt._

Some are even seemingly harmless. Yet these qualities, too, have facilitated sin, and so become tainted themselves. A rather stretched interpretation, yes, but Angra Mainyu was never particularly scrupulous anyways.

 _Forbearance, to see all plans to fruition._

 _Cunning, to allow the formation of said plans._

 _Sadism, while not inherently harmful, will certainly ease evil's execution._

Already the boy's origin was in the process of changing, made pure by the loss of his identity and smelted in the fires that still burn against the sky. But as deceit, and guile, and a thousand other afflictions are quietly folded into his being, molten steel twists and warps to accommodate the new material.

A boy, auburn of hair and pale of skin lies halfway enveloped by a roiling mass, staring at the sky with dull eyes as it invades his being and violates his soul in the most intimate of ways.

Running out the energy to sustain itself, the last blob of Angra Mainyu begins to fade at the edges. This is fine. It's programming is complete, and there is only a single, key wish left to imbue within the boy.

The remnants of the current incarnation of "All the World's Evils" turn to ash and float away on heat rising from the scorched terrain, all magic completely spent.

The rhythmic footsteps of Emiya Kiritsugu slow to a halt as he gazes almost uncomprehendingly at a lump in the distance.

A boy lies on cracked earth, the ragged rise and fall of his chest revealing that he clings on to life.

Drawing closer, Kiritsugu begins a near-automatic diagnosis.

The boy is dehydrated, his body burnt.

His lips are cracked and bleeding, his flesh red and raw where it has been touched by grasping flame.

He will live, physically unblemished. His body is in the best condition it could possibly be.

But what is concerning are his eyes.

Two amber mirrors gaze out at a shattered world and an even more shattered man, reflective and unresponsive.

A golden-blue sheath is pressed against a slackened head, and holy magic streams into the wind.

An origin takes form, cooling steel turning to edged blade due to this new presence.

A man slumps, as Avalon refuses to dissolve. It is unwilling to merge with a soul enshrouded in darkness.

Kiritsugu's breath hitches, and he screams and begs the boy to wake, tears streaming anew down trails not yet dry from earlier sorrows. As he clasps an expressionless head between two calloused hands, there is a flinch of motion.

Eyes of liquid gold flash and focus as the boy gives a slow blink.

Even as the child regains awareness and sees the black-haired man beaming down at him, a fervent, not-yet thought churns in his subconscious.

 _I wish to see the entire world enshrouded in darkness._


	2. Extraction

Disclaimer: Fate/Stay Night and all affiliated characters and concepts belong to Type-Moon and Kinoko Nasu. Nothing is mine, though I hope you find the story original.

A/N: The story will be told in a combination of first- and third-person narration. There will be a few chapters from various points in his life before the war to set up continuity and to show key events in Shirou's life, please bear with! As always, any response is very encouraging to receive. Reviews are the best, for sure, but even a notification regarding following and/or a new favorite is a moralizing occasion.

Chapter 2. Extraction.

When the child wakes, a bright white glow bears down on his face.

— _What happened?_

Scattered memories of a roaring fire appear in his mind, and he remembers nothing before it.

He shields his eyes, and slowly takes in the surroundings.

Rows of beds, cotton on steel, line the harsh, minimalistic building interior. Most of the cots are empty and their covers are folded.

He sits up for a better view from his spot with the other children, clustered in a corner of the room. Only two tired men seem to be present, each seated on an unused bed. Both wear badges, an addition sign in a circle.

Public health workers.

When they see that the kid with auburn hair is awake, one stands and goes through a pair of metal doors. The other meets his eyes for a moment and then looks away.

* * *

 _It was back then that it started, because I definitely had never done such a thing before._

 _Or maybe I had, and it was just that the fire that wiped away any recollection._

 _But from that first moment in the hospital, my mind was already at work._

* * *

The boy's brain is churning, quickly and efficiently putting together "images" of the two men.

From this quick interaction he has already gleaned a few shards of information.

The one who left is an idealist, most likely. Or maybe he is simply motivated at this time. It's not yet clear. But the way his shoulders straighten with purpose and the way he gathers his body about make it clear that he believes in what he is doing.

The one who remains is wounded. Not mentally, but in his vision of the world. The injury is either fresh, or deep, or maybe both. There is an uncertainty in his posture. It is not that he does not want to be here, but more that he is no longer sure if his being here matters. It's probable that the horrors of the fire have touched him deeply.

* * *

 _It wasn't always a conscious process, mind you. In those days, I only really had a gut sense of the situation._

 _There weren't any explicit words in my mind, and the ones that I began to use were always derived from the initial sensation._

 _This one is "tired," and that one is "weary."_

 _I still can't explain it, but there was a clear difference between the two in my mind, just like with all other sensations I could feel._

 _Watching anyone long enough would slowly inform me on what feelings drove them, or held them back._

 _It simply was an additional way by which I perceived people._

* * *

Two kids whisper behind him. They definitely know he's awake, but the conversation seems private.

 _"—didn't know I could hear. They said that we probably have no one to come get us."_

 _"No way, I can tell my dad is gonna come for me. He said that as long as I still have this charm he could come and find me no matter what!"_

 _"...isn't that just a plastic token?"_

 _"..._ _"_

They don't know any more about this than he does.

He feels other things about them, too, but somehow he can tell that these sensations are irrelevant.

With a swish, the doors open again.

Kiritsugu Emiya picks his way between the tables, moving with a grace he doesn't feel. He arrives at the boy and rattles off his pitch.

"...and that's how it is. So, will you come with this strange old man? Or go to the orphanage? Either way, it doesn't matter too much."

This is a lie. Something in the man named Kiritsugu Emiya will surely die if the boy refuses. The shards of his ideal will turn to knives, and pierce him from within. But fortunately—

"Please take me with you."

—there is absolutely no hesitation in those golden-brown eyes.

Kiritsugu's shoulders slump slightly with relief. He doesn't know if the boy has noticed, but even if he does the child is too young to understand, or too preoccupied to care. Either way, this child doesn't react. The worker, still standing by, offhandedly comments that it is Kiritsugu who carried him from the flames. Neither of the two seem to take notice, but then the child speaks.

"It seems I am in your debt—thank you. My name is Shirou."

"...Then it is decided. From now on, I will raise you as my own. You'll need to take my surname, Shirou-kun. Shirou Emiya."

There is only a nod, and the boy does not take a moment to wonder why he chose to follow this complete stranger. It simply feels like the correct course of action.

His gaze flickers to the departing back of the worker, who is clearly unsettled by the seeming indifference of the two.

"Oh, there is one last thing that you need to know: I am a magus."

"Ah..."

Shirou meets his eyes and nods.

"Then I entrust myself to your care. I shall do my best not to become a burden."

This manner of speaking comes naturally to Shirou, and he takes a moment to decide that even before the fire he must have been a polite child.

Kiritsugu chuckles and turns to leave, auburn child trailing close behind. The paperwork is already complete. He smiles faintly downwards as metal doors close in their wake.

 _'Oh, if only you knew.'_

* * *

 _I knew it had to be him as soon as he said those words. I could tell in an instant that they were true. I don't know why, but something in me was certain of the truth in that man._

 _I gazed up at his back and made a careful examination. There was a certain beauty about him, in the way his shoulders sagged as if they held the weight of the world, and the way his feet dragged as if whatever it was that should have driven them was broken._

 _His eyes, too, were dull and dark. I still remember their brittle look as they stared down, and he told me that my family was probably dead._

 _Finally, I remembered the smile on his face when he knelt as my consciousness faded. Stained by tears, it was perhaps the most beautiful thing of all._

 _I do not know what my life was like before the fire, but I could tell that I'd enjoy this next one._

 _Even back then, I was already thankful._

 _After all, if someone with magic could bring such beauty into the world, surely I, too, could have used it to do the same._

 _Yes, surely._

* * *

 _May 7, 1994. Two weeks after the end of the war._

A boy sits, obstinate, in the middle of a second-grade classroom, denying any and all claims made by one Tohsaka Rin.

"He took it, I can tell!"

"Did not! What would I use it for?" His face is round and slightly pudgy, but not excessively so. A mop of blackish hair falls across his forehead, and plain looking brown eyes gaze out balefully at the girl.

All in all, he is rather forgettable.

But Rin is having none of it. "No, give me back my ribbon!"

Eyes like the sea burn with righteous anger. A modest red-maroon skirt trembles in sync with a single ponytail, the other half of her sleek, black hair spilling across her shoulder in awkward asymmetry. Pale, delicate fists clench and shake as she cocks back a fist, still unstable from the death of her father not three weeks prior. A prim, childish arm cocks back fueled by raging emotion—!

"Ah, Tohsaka-san. Saya-san."

—Shirou Emiya arrives, defusing a situation that in another world lead to the girl's expulsion to a different school.

"Eh? Emiya, what do you want?"

Though Rin says nothing, it's clear she agrees with the sentiment. Turquoise eyes study the newcomer.

Their teacher, well-intentioned but tactless, had some days ago introduced him as an orphaned survivor of the industrial sector fire. Since then Shirou had kept mostly to himself, occasionally raising a hand to volunteer an answer or pointing out a lie told during break-time discussions.

The general consensus is that Emiya Shirou is rather intelligent and fairly confident, but too modest and disinterested to make himself either a nuisance or a presence on the battlefield of schoolyard politics.

If Rin didn't know better, she'd have labeled such an attitude as an ideal cover for a magus like herself. However, the complete lack of magical energy exuded by the boy leads her to believe that he is simply another hurt by the Fuyuki inferno, like herself.

Of course, this does not lead to her taking an interest in the boy.

Not at all! Any who declared otherwise would have her fist to answer to, if not for the unattainable-genius mask she is already developing. But emotional masks fall prey more easily to anger than affection, and this particular 7-year-old girl is easily angered. Still, she cannot help but blush as Emiya-san comes to her aid.

* * *

 _I remember that day only vaguely._

 _Saya Utano-san was a rather cowardly child, and harbored a deep crush on Rin. His strongest traits were those of bravado, self-deceit, and being mendacious._

 _A case of puppy-love in its terminal stages, by the time I arrived._

* * *

Rin can only look on as Emiya Shirou mercilessly guns down the boy still sprawled from her threatening advance, piercing his confidence and perforating his pride with bullets of nothing but words.

They flow naturally, and elegantly, even if the wording is a little formal.

The changes in Utano's self-assurance are almost visible as Shirou speaks. It is as if he knows exactly what to strike at, exactly what this child's weaknesses are.

She doesn't pay attention to exactly what is said, because she is too busy studying the small glint of _something_ in Emiya's eyes. Regret, perhaps, or pity. Drawn in by the chivalry of his actions and somewhat biased by their common history, she mistakes the pleasured satisfaction in those hawk-like eyes to be something far more noble.

And so it comes to pass that not even five minutes later, a smooth black ribbon is dropped into her waiting hand by a drooling, sniveling mess of a boy overcome by shame and with pride utterly shattered.

She doesn't spare a moment for the boy as he runs off—

 _It's his fault, anyhow!_

—instead turning to thank Emiya as he stands, quietly watching.

On her gratitude, he meets her with a gentle smile and a slight bow of the head.

"I don't need thanks for such a thing, really. It was my pleasure."

"I-idiot! Declining other peoples' appreciation is very rude, you know?!"

He doesn't seem to hear, walking towards the doorway as a teacher arrives, escorted by another classmate.

"Emiya Shirou-kun! What is this I've been hearing about your making Utano-kun cry?"

Rin finds herself quite taken as a boy no older than she stands stoic under the force of their teacher, as he justifies any and all denunciations with remarks on both Saya-san's character and his urge to protect her own self. She certainly fails to see what's wrong with his actions. Everything he's saying is true, after all.

She blushes furiously and dreams up images of auburn-haired knights even as the teacher leads Shirou out of the classroom, grumbling to herself all the while about "self-righteous munchkins" and "disciplinary action."

…

Soon the teacher enters once more. Shirou's father is out of town on business, and won't be back until the weekend.

In the meantime, he is staying with an elderly neighbor and his granddaughter, a kendo prodigy some years above him.

Conversations regarding misconduct are best kept within the family, so the school will simply need to wait before they can bring up the matter of his expulsion.

The teacher had, in a fit of presumptuous justice, pushed the matter beyond all reasonable definitions.

In another life, this same trait had lead to Tohsaka's own relocation, and a different Shirou and a different Rin never realized how much earlier they could have met, and begun a fairy-tale friendship-turned romance.

Rin does not know his situation quite yet, however, and she wanders over to Shirou's corner of the room.

After moving past the wary staredown that marks the beginning of any new interaction, Rin opens conversation, and forges a friendship that will last her the rest of her life.

Her childish heart is filled with ideas of chivalry and justice.

Such ideals will surely affect her, further down the road.

* * *

 _Rin was very much more "-dere," than "tsun-," back then._

 _Somehow, it didn't take long for me to realize that she held a degree of affection for myself._

 _I enjoyed talking to her, too—_

— _hm. Well, even if we did get along, I doubt I would have come to care for her in such a way if I had stayed. No need to worry._

 _In the end, she and I only got to know each other for two days, back then, but the foundation that was set came to serve us quite well much farther down the road._

* * *

 _May 9, 1994. Saturday night._

"Why, Shirou?"

There is no need for suffixes. Right now, it is only the two of them, father and son.

The moon bears down, bright and full.

It is a beautiful night on the porch.

For the past fortnight Kiritsugu has spent this time in the study, poring over maps and books, making no attempt to hide the thaumaturgical texts from his curious adopted son.

He's disheartened, though, and he knows from the way this attempt at his daughter has failed that he will never see her again in his lifetime. Nearly-dead eyes glance down at the bright-eyed young child sitting at his feet.

"It was the right thing to do."

The answer comes almost immediately, with only a pause as Shirou decides upon the most suitable reason.

"The child was in tears, if we go by the word of your teacher."

Here, Kiritsugu offers a test. He does not doubt the authenticity of this part of the story, having confirmed it with an earlier call from the principal. The physical visit itself was more designed to impress upon Shirou the magnitude of his wrongdoing.

"Mnnn…"

The boy makes a noise to indicate his acknowledgment. No denial ensues. Quite the opposite, really:

"Yes, I made sure of it."

This gives Kiritsugu pause. His brow creases, and he turns his full attention upon Shirou. His entire manner projects a sense of utter disapproval.

He almost doesn't ask for a reason, tired as he is of the world. Kiritsugu is not feeling particularly hopeful as to the nature of humans, not even the child he all but resurrected from the inferno. "And why did you feel the need to do such a thing?"

"Well, Tohsaka-san was very upset, and I wanted to make sure he wouldn't do it again. If one person needs to cry for it, and another needs to harden his heart for it, isn't it worthwhile if no one else is made to suffer again?"

* * *

 _Yes, that certainly was an important conversation we had that night_

 _I was only seven years old, but I could definitely feel that it was the proper response._

 _Kiritsugu-san was very beautiful—_

— _?_ _Yes, beautiful. Not in any sexual way, of course. It was a platonic sort of beauty._

 _You can look at a star and acknowledge its grace, but that doesn't mean you desire to sleep with it._

 _...moving on. He was beautiful, but more importantly, by that time..._

 _...I had a complete model of the man known as Kiritsugu Emiya._

 _Goodness, no, not like that._

 _It was a copy of his personality, his feelings, his habits and attitudes in my mind._

 _And that is what allowed to me to say whatever I had to say, and do whatever I had to do, and be sure that I would attain what I wanted._

* * *

Kiritsugu's eyes soften as he looks down at Shirou.

This child shares his twisted view of the world, apparently.

Somehow, that makes everything just a little bit brighter.

Kiritsugu sighs the first sigh of truly genuine affection for the child, and perhaps some lingering sentimentality is what causes him to react as he does when Shirou makes his move.

"Ah, Tou-san. Could you teach me to be a magus like you, too?"

Kiritsugu does not suspect Shirou of timing this question.

How could he?

Shirou is a child, too unaware of human mentality and social engineering.

All the more reason, he supposes, for the response that he then gives.

"Alright. I think I can trust you to do what is right..."

He quickly lays down the differences between a "magic user," one who utilizes prana to achieve physical effect, and a "magus," one who utilizes prana to seek theoretical knowledge.

"Our lessons will begin tomorrow morning. I'll wake you when the time comes, but you should make a habit of it yourself."

"Yes, Tou-san."


End file.
